@mediocreMayme is a postgrad in Physics, a lover of polka-dots, and a cat owner (twice over). Whilst she likes 60s fashions, she would never put her head in a beehive.

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#33 confessions

I have a confession to make. my daffodils aren’t doing so hot. A lot of it has died, and I don’t quite understand why, this past month that daffodil has been my main priority, well, next to doing well in the first year of my degree and obtaining cupcakes from the Hummingbird bakery, all I’m saying is, that it hasn’t near died due to lack of love.

Other than that, things remain at the status quo. My life is made up of only a couple things; the sims, rice cakes, diet coke and copious amounts of coffee, to name a few recurrent themes, but I can proudly say that I adore these things in their entirety, though they lack in profound meaning the joy they bring me are leaps and bounds past any might of meaningful or tangible expression. I always find the most pleasurable of pleasures are those you do in secret. I don’t mean guilty pleasures, I just mean solitary ones. traditions that would be spoilt should someone choose to sit in on them purely because the essence of the whole routine is such that is so personal that an observer’s presence, though innocent in their observation, would ruin the nature of the pleasure altogether. Not to say I don’t enjoy the company of others, sure enough the existence of friends and family prove far from it, but time alone is precious and always coveted.

Speaking of friends, recently, I’ve taken to writing more letters. Despite the fact that the people I write to are people who I can talk to much more efficiently over the phone or through a text message, the hard facts of a handwritten letter feel a lot more personal, a lot more like talking to a person than a text message, a lot more like effort and hard work, you didn’t just call them up out of necessity or text them through boredom, having it be their number your thumb finds, you thought about what you wanted to say, who you wanted to say it to, wrote it down and entrusted her majesty’s postal service to deliver it to them. there’s a beautiful train of thought in that, something that I find gets lost in translation, and satellites, when sent in an email. Sometimes I find technology has a tendency to be cold and clinical, even as I put this out onto the world wide web, who’s to say anyone would even read it? considering the vast ocean of information that is put out there daily, the chances that anyone outside my circle of friends and family even clicks on it is slim at best. Essentially, the crux of what I’m trying to say here, is that, fundamentally, I don’t think many people care anymore. For most part, for most people, I don’t even think I care anymore.

If it weren’t for the small pleasures, life may be so lonely it’d be hardly worth living, so relish in every postcard, cup of coffee, fresh crunch of a fallen autumnal leaf and rice cake that you come across and don’t apologise for it.